Chapter 6

Organised Offender

The sounds of busy feet and mouths were cut off as I snapped the door shut. Better, much better, the silence. My head had been pounding since the night before, around eleven o'clock. I'd hardly slept, feeling the tension in my shoulders worsen until I felt like I couldn't stand lying down any longer. Spent the rest of the night and all of the morning sitting on the couch watching television until my eyes had become so heavy that I could hardly see the screen, yet still I couldn't sleep. Now I was sitting in an office that didn't feel like my own at all, in the middle of a workplace where I was sure at least sixty percent of the employees resented my presence, trying my best to get a handle on a case we had little to no information on. I sat down at my desk delicately, nursing the hot coffee in my right hand. I took a sip slowly, savouring the taste. Brought from home, no vending machine crap; basically felt like it was all that was getting me through the morning. I looked up towards the table beside the window, sunlight streaming in. Commissioner Rose wasn't in yet, which made me curious, yet I didn't think that waiting until he arrived before I started work was a good idea. I stood up and walked over to the door, cringing internally as I opened it and the loud, abrasive sounds of the office assaulted me. Thankfully the person I was looking for was close at hand.

"Janet," I said as the young blonde officer passed by my me with a stack of folders in her hands; I ignored the blank look she gave me in preference of giving her my request and retreating to my office as soon as possible, "could you please have the case files for the Whitaker suicide sent to my office as soon as possible?"
"Yes, sir," she said, no hint of the smile which she used with everyone else.

Despite her cold demeanour she didn't let it affect her job; she returned five minutes later with a small cardboard archive box. I frowned as Janet placed it on my table.

"I was led to believe that we had little information on the death," I asked as I walked towards the box, reaching for the lid, "Is there really enough to fill a box?"

Janet looked at me with confusion, her hand on the door frame as she made to leave

"No, sir, you don't understand," she said, "this is all the information. They're filed together."
"Together?" I asked, confused, "What's filed together?"
"That's how I found them," she said, as if it explained everything, and then left.

I appreciated the silence, but not the lack of information. I spun the box around and read the label, printed in bold black ink: Suicide Case. I pulled off the lid and pulled out the first two case files, Crawford Whitaker and James Kidd? The other three were labelled Halloren, McAllister and Phillips, all names of recent suicides in the New York area. I hadn't been informed that a link had been detected between the five deaths...I needed to speak to Commissioner Rose about this. I looked up to the window which surveyed the office. Trying to decide who to trust in this place was going to be a nightmare.

Better to make a start of this on my own and see if there was even a link between them or if this was simply a filing error. I pulled the rest of the information out of the box and set about laying out the evidence. The table wasn't large enough to hold all of the extra notes and crime scene photographs, so I quickly began filling up my, thankfully empty, pin board.

First victim found was Sean McAllister; I pinned the photo of his corpse at the top left of the board, quickly reading over the notes. Fifty five years old, joint partner at a top law firm, Johnson and McAllister. Discovered by his wife when he didn't return to bed, found dead hanging from the central light fixture in his kitchen where he had been preparing a sandwich. Unlikely pastime for someone contemplating suicide. The wife had informed officers that McAllister had not seemed depressed or disturbed over the past few weeks, in fact she hadn't noted any change in his behaviour whatsoever and there seemed to be no major events which would stress him into committing suicide; they had been planning to go on a trip to Italy next week for Christmas.

Next was Samuel Phillips, sixty two years old, found by a junkie in central park who had robbed his corpse for cash. He was later caught trying to contact a dealer and, when the officer hassled him for information on where he got the money, he gave up the location of the body. South end of the park, propped against a tree, wrists slit. He also had a high end job, chairman of Bellvue advertising, worked a two day week making sure the company was being run the way he wanted it to be. No wife or kids, a brother in Pennsylvania who he hadn't contacted in over ten years. Lonely man with failing control over his company? Suicide didn't seem a far stretch, but then why the undignified staging of the event? Central park under a tree where anyone could find him? He seemed far too closeted in his everyday life for such an overt display. It had all the classic signs of an arranged crime scene, a killing specifically designed to humiliate the victim and shock whoever finds the body. I pinned him next to McAllister thoughtfully. Things weren't adding up for either suicide so far.

Crawford Whitaker was the only man with a confirmed time of death as a witness saw him fall from the Queensboro Bridge at approximately five forty in the morning. Witness said that it was only about ten or so minutes after the time had been announced as half five on the radio. Whitaker was fifty nine, chief editor of the NY Daily News, and the only victim I had come into contact with while working on a case for the FBI; a nervous man with low self esteem, as far as I could recall. When the body was found it was discovered that Whitaker had slit open his abdomen before falling from the Queensboro Bridge where he had been hanging precariously, as if to make sure that he fell once he'd completed his evisceration. It was by far the most brutal of the five deaths, inconsistent with ninety five percent of suicides, which tended to be more passive and quick, and more consistent with a killer who again wants to shock whoever finds the body. It also seemed highly unlikely that a meek man like Whitaker would have the gumption to cut open his own body in such an overt display of self hatred. Usually any killer who eviscerates his or her victims receives some kind of sexual or self satisfying gratification from the process. Yet no killer was seen by the witness at the scene, although it was dark and the witness was travelling in a car at the time. Also, why the mutilation if he was going to jump from the bridge? Was it a safety measure to make sure he didn't survive or a message?

James Kidd, forty six, and Derek Halloren, fifty nine, were discovered around the same time, about six o'clock in the morning. Kidd by his eleven year old son in his family home and Halloren by two women on their way to work. Kidd was an investment banker at Knight Savings and Investments, Halloren was joint partner of Halloren and Grawley, a very influential man with connections all the way to the mayor's office. Kidd seemed like small fry in comparison. Halloren jumped from his top floor office and fell thirty stories to the sidewalk. Pathologists said that he probably died of a heart attack before he hit the ground, but with the mutilation the body suffered after impact it was hard to tell; he did have angina, so the summation seemed accurate. Kidd was a different story, and perhaps the most incongruous of the group. He was the only one of the five to leave a suicide note, but died of seemingly natural causes, a fatal heart attack that killed him instantly. No harm to the body, no sign of overdose or chemical assistance in the blood. I pinned his picture at the centre of the other four, creating the shape of the five on the side of a six sided dice.

They were suicides, yet they seemed incongruously related. I read over the autopsy notes for each victim again, noting the similar records for time of death. As the bodies had been found quite quickly after each death the T.o.D. was usually very accurate. They had all died within about a half hour of each other, if not closer. Something was definitely wrong here, I thought as I continued to pin the evidence to the board, struggling to connect the victims to each other. If it weren't for the extraordinary circumstances these deaths took place in, the pattern was classic of an organised offender, someone who commits a meticulously planned crime in a premeditated manner, leaving few to no clues. Their victims are usually picked for specific reasons, almost always highly personal to the killer, ranging from hair colour to past offences against the killer themselves. Yet as far as the police were concerned there was no connection and, in the long run, if they hadn't all come in the same box I perhaps wouldn't have considered the idea as quickly as I had. I needed a better medium to connect the crime scenes to the victims, I decided, feeling my blood flow faster through my veins as I felt that same old adrenaline rush which I'd always felt whenever on the verge of discovering a vital clue. I needed a map.

"Janet," I said, her smile fading back to the blank look she'd used on me before and I did a good job of not reacting to it at all, "is there any way you could get me a map of the New York area?"
"There's one in the commissioner's office," she said before focusing back on her work; I could take a hint.

Thankfully the office wasn't locked, which I found odd but I wasn't about to question a fortuitous situation. I found the map on the wall, framed. It was perfect, shame I'd have to run the risk of being fired by stealing it. I felt anger simmering under my calm demeanour as I thought about Janet being purposefully unhelpful when all I was trying to do was my job. I closed the door behind me as I left the office. There must be another map I could use around here somewhere...

"Chief?" a pleasant voice said from behind me; I turned to find detective McLean standing there, "you look a little lost, can I help you with anything?"
"...Actually yes," I said, feeling a little thrown by his amiability considering nearly everyone else was passively hostile, "I'm looking for a map of New York."
"I'm sure that I have one in my office, just let me get it," he smiled but despite his friendliness I decided not to take any chances .
"I'll come and get it, I'm kind of in a hurry," I said, hearing the tension in my voice and trying to neutralise it.
"Alright," Mclean looked startled at first but didn't question me; I liked him more by the second.

I had forgotten, unfortunately, in my haste that detective McLean shared his office with detective Laytner. I remembered the outrage obvious in Laytner's eyes when Commissioner Rose had introduced me yesterday. When I walked in and saw him behind his desk I almost felt the need to freeze in my tracks, like I'd been caught sneaking into the office to enjoy some away time from the hostility outside. Yet, strangely, the fire in his eyes wasn't quite as fierce as it had been. He even nodded to me civilly before continuing with whatever work he had on his desk. I attributed his calmer demeanour to McLean; the two seemed very close and I felt that, despite his rather passive personality, that McLean was more dominant in their professional relationship than he let on.

"Here you are," my eyes snapped to McLean as he handed me the map.
"You don't mind if I draw on it do you?" I asked, feeling like I should try and be as compliant as possible.
"Knock yourself out sir," he smiled.

I took the map back to my office and laid it out on the desk which I'd cleared by pinning everything to the board. Then I set about marking out the crime scenes and, in the case of all the victims except Kidd and McAllister, their home addresses. If this was a killer, I thought as I mapped out the hot spots on the map, the MO for each killing was inconsistent with a single profile of a serial killer; unless the killer had severe multiple personality disorder and the ability to teleport around the city, then we were looking at a highly organised group of suspects. However, the killing of Whitaker could be seen as a blitz attack, the sign of an unorganised killer, while McAllister was found hung, which suggests a revenge attack, yet there were no signs of forced entry and the house was locked up for the night. What was the connection between the victims that would bring such an unlikely group of suspects together?

"You've been busy."

I physically jumped and spun round, only to find Commissioner Rose in the doorway, coffee in hand and an amused expression on his face. I swallowed, feeling like an idiot, and amazed at how engrossed I had become in my musings that I hadn't heard the door open. I glanced at the clock and realised that I had been working for over two hours already without noticing the passage of time.

"I thought I'd better stop in and see how you were getting on," he said as he closed the door, then his expression turned serious; he walked over to stand beside me and look at my board intently, "is there any reason you have all five of these men pinned to your board Chief?"

For a moment I thought I was in trouble, but quickly dismissed my fears in order to explain myself as quickly as possible.

"We've been assigned the Crawford Whitaker case, since there was suspicion of foul play," I said as picked up the case file just so I had something to hold in my hands, "and Janet delivered the other four cases in the same box. When I looked through the reports and the unusual circumstances of each I feel that there is a connection between at least three if not all of these suicides."

He looked at me in silence for a whole thirty seconds before taking a sip of his coffee and eyeing the board intently.

"Explain," he said shortly.
"Well..." I hesitated, feeling suddenly nervous; I took a deep breath and decided the best way to banish my nerves was by explaining my reasoning, which I always found therapeutic, "McAllister and Kidd were the obvious suicides, yet McAllister showed none of the classic or even rare signs of a man contemplating suicide, while Kidd was happily married, financially stable and expecting his second child; plus the fact that he seemingly died of natural causes but had enough foresight to write a suicide note. Neither fits the profile on initial investigation. Halloren and Whitaker both died in suspicious circumstances, each with a death that ended in mutilation to the body, while Samuel Phillips was supposed to have committed suicide in Central Park even though this method of suicide contradicts entirely with his isolated nature. The scene seems staged and little blood was found at the scene, suggesting the body was exsanguinated elsewhere and then moved."

Rose continued to watch me carefully even as I stopped speaking. I cleared my throat and forced myself to continue, feeling like my theory was more and more crazy as I said it out loud. What was I thinking, I never doubted my theories without just cause, why was this man making me feel so unsure?

"Your theory?" he asked expectantly.
"These suicides seem to me more like specific victims, targeted by a group of highly organised suspects, which would account for the unorthodox variation in MO and the close times of death for each victim."
"Links between the victims?" he asked, taking another sip of coffee.
"I was, uh, just about to work on that sir," I said, scratching the back of my neck.
"Call me Rose, or Commissioner if you have to, anything but sir," he said with a smile that instantly put me at ease yet seemed more like a mask than genuine affection, "and there's no need to be nervous. No theory is crazy enough not to tell someone about, believe me I've heard crazier things which turned out to be true. What's this for?"

He pointed to the map on the table, with my half formed scribbles.

"Geographical profiling," I said, feeling like I was being questioned by a professor back in university.
"They teach you that in the academy?" he asked with a sceptical raise of his eyebrow.
"University," I said, feeling uncomfortable.
"When did you graduate?" he frowned, obviously doing the math in his head equivalent to my age.
"Nineteen ninety eight" I said, watching his eyes widen.
"When you were seventeen?" he said with disbelief.

I nodded. He blinked and shook his head for a moment.

"What did you study?" he asked.
"Psychology, with a masters in socio-psychotic behaviour and a post graduate in aberrant and criminal psychology," I said, hearing the defensive tone slipping back into my voice; I really wasn't used to being around people who didn't know me very well, was I?

He stared for another moment, a little wide eyed. Then he seemed to hesitate, staring into his coffee for a few seconds before coming to some sort of decision. He looked at me seriously.

"There'll be a meeting at two o'clock in my office," he said, "I'd like you to attend."
"Of course si-Commissioner," I quickly corrected.
"Great," his smile turned genuine for a fraction of a second before settling back to his mask, "good work Chief Braithwaite."

I don't think I've ever been so relieved to have someone leave me alone in a long time. There was something both comforting and entirely unsettling about Commissioner Berkley Rose. At least he hadn't asked me any more questions about my education; I thought he was might start questioning the legitimacy of my qualifications if he'd asked me to list any more.

"What does the old lech want with us now?" I groused as Ryo led us towards the Commissioner's office.
"Dee, please try and be civil," Ryo said patiently, giving me a stern look, "and I'm not sure what the meeting is about, he didn't tell me. He just asked us to be at his office for two."
"Yeah, well," I shrugged, feeling the usual uncomfortable shiver up my spine whenever Berkley Rose came within twenty feet of me, "he better keep it civil too."

Ryo sighed a long suffering sigh before stopping at the Commissioner's door and knocking. A muffled voice asked us to enter and we stepped inside. I closed the door behind me, but not before noting that there were already a handful of other people in the office. Drake nodded to me, holding JJ down manually to stop him from springing on me, as the young brunette waved enthusiastically in my direction. It was my turn to sigh a long suffering sigh and take a seat beside Ryo. Then I noticed Chief Braithwaite sitting to Rose's left, looking confident but out of place, staring into the middle distance. Rose was sat behind his desk, arms folded. He cleared his throat to get our attention.

"Now that you're all here, I must ask that whatever is said in this room, never leaves this room," he said calmly, his serious manner throwing me off a little; where was his playboy smirk and confident attitude? "as you know we have been assigned the case of Crawford Whitaker because of the chance of foul play but further evidence has arisen which has escalated this case...there is a police van downstairs ready to leave in thirty minutes. You have until then to decide whether you want to take part in this investigation and..." he held up his hand as we all started to interrupt him, "...I know you would like to know what is going on but, well, I'm going to have to ask you to trust me when I tell you that I can't. The information attached to this case is highly classified and all I am at liberty to tell you that your lives will be put in serious danger if you decide to participate. This is a case of national security and you will be working with very sensitive information that could cause outright panic if it was ever leaked to the press. I need to know if you are willing to take part in this investigation considering the sacrifices you will have to make. A lot is at stake here people."

Wow. Okay, not the way I was expecting my afternoon to go. I closed my mouth when I realised I was gaping at Rose and blinked, looking to Ryo who shrugged back.

"You want us to just...choose?" I said, realising the stupidity of my question but feeling that it was at least relevant, "You haven't told us anything. How long would this be for?"
"An indeterminate amount of time," Rose replied.
"Why is this investigation so crucial?" Drake asked.
"I can't tell you that," Rose said.
"Why is there a van?" Ryo asked, frowning, "Why do we have to leave the station to conduct this investigation? Are we working with the FBI on this?"
"Sort of," Rose said evasively; why did he still give in to Ryo so much, I thought bristling.
"So this is a case of national security if the FBI are involved," I said, putting my hands on my hips, "you really can't tell us anything else?"
"No," he said sternly.
"But why are we here?" JJ piped up, looking around the room in confusion, "I mean, why just us?"
"I was told to assemble my best and most trusted officers to form a task force to help counteract this threat," he said cryptically.
"Oh yeah?" I smirked, "Then what the hell am I doing here?"
"This is not time for sarcasm Laytner," Rose said, his eyes hardening, "despite our differences at least I can concede that you are a trustworthy, intelligent detective. It would be appreciated if you too could be as civil."

Okay, I think my jaw was hanging open again. I closed it, feeling foolish, like a little kid who'd been caught playing one up's in the playground.

"Uh, yeah," I said folding my arms, "sorry."

Rose sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose, looking to all intents and purposes as tired and harassed. I even felt a little bit sorry for him, which surprised the hell out of me. I noted that Braithwaite had been suspiciously quiet for the entire meeting.

"Well," Drake said with a shrug of his shoulders, "if it's as serious as it sounds, you can count me in. Anything I can do to help, I'm your man."

Rose looked surprised at Drakes candidness, but nodded.

"If Drake goes, I'm going too," JJ said loyally, with little trace of his usual air-headedness.
"You know I'm in Commissioner," Braithwaite finally spoke, confirming to me that he did have prior knowledge of this.
"Ryo?" I said, turning to my partner unsurely.

Somehow, and I did feel selfish in thinking this, I felt as if I had something to lose that the others didn't by taking up this request. To say Ryo had become my world would maybe be melodramatic, but it was also fairly accurate. Anything that would put him into serious danger was something I would take a long hard time thinking about before I capitulated. Yet I knew how headstrong and justice blinded Ryo could be and, if he decided he was going, then I wouldn't hesitate in being there to protect him, no matter how much he decided he didn't need it.

"Dee, this sounds really serious," he said, almost pleading with his eyes as if he could see what was going through my mind.
"I know but..." I couldn't say it here, even though Drake and JJ definitely knew that we were in a relationship, and I was sure Rose suspected, "come on. Rose said it would be dangerous."
"Is that reason enough to shirk our responsibility?" Ryo said sternly.
"What about Bikky?" I said, going straight for the low blow.
"Bikky will understand," Ryo said, showing me he'd definitely made his bloody mind up and I could just try and change it.

Aw hell, I thought letting my head drop down while I thought about the ramifications of this mystery quest of Rose's. Fuck it.

"You can count us in," I said, looking straight at Rose and, at least on some level, appreciating his small nod of acknowledgement.

"Care to tell me why you're being so trusting on this case?"

I had been so absorbed in studying the limited case files, which Commissioner Rose had been able to provide me with electronically, that I hardly heard Raito speak. I looked up to find him standing to my right, his arms folded while he stared towards my laptop screen as if without seeing it. He looked defiantly tired, probably refusing to sleep so he could adapt more quickly to the different time zone. I also noted that he was speaking in English.

"I don't want to waste time," I said, giving him an incomplete answer, knowing he wouldn't leave it at that.
"That's not the only reason though, is it?" he said, taking a seat beside me on the couch, "You feel responsible for Raye Penber and Naomi Misoura. You want to make it up to this FBI agent, Diana Spacey."
"You suspect me of being subjective in relation to a case as serious as this?" I asked.
"I suspect you of having more human elements than you are aware of," Raito said drowsily.
"You slept on the plane Raito-kun," I said.
"It didn't help," he said tonelessly, "my body clock is all out of kilter. What time is it?"
"Two thirty five in the afternoon," I said back, my eyes never leaving the screen, "your accent has improved since this morning."
"I've been practicing," he said defensively, "it's kept me awake at least."
"You should get some rest," I suggested, knowing what kind of reception that advice would receive.
"I'm fine," he said coldly, "if I sleep now I'll never adjust."
"You will be of little use if you can't keep your eyes open Raito-kun."
"I want to see these people you've invited rashly into our investigation."

'Our investigation': that at least gave me hope. I smirked a little, looking to him out of the corner of my eye. He looked despondent and exhausted. I found it in myself to feel slightly guilty for his predicament, but pushed the feeling away.

"So you are feeling more inclined to work together now?" I asked.
"Don't push it," he said, his eyes drifting closed, before he blinked them back open and sat up, "give me something to do before I fall asleep."

As if by his request my laptop beeped impatiently and Watari's signal blinked in the bottom right hand corner. I connected and his face opened in a new window.

"Your guests have arrived," he said.
"Is Miss Spacey with you?" I asked.
"She has also just arrived sir," Watari explained, "should I send her up first?"
"Please do," I said, waiting for his acknowledgement before shutting down the connection, "and then escort the other to the room Watari. Perhaps this will keep you awake?"
"Depends on how infuriatingly dull they are," Raito said in an obvious attempt to pull me into a conversation; I knew Raito was not that obtuse.
"Now, now," I said closing my lap top and standing from the couch, "no need to be hasty Raito-kun."

He gave me glare for that one, which I enjoyed immensely. It wasn't long before I heard the ping of the elevator arriving on our floor and waited for Diana Spacey to enter. I had given her the passkey to enter the room and hoped that wouldn't set Raito off on another snide lecture about being too trusting.

"The bureau already knows you're here," she said as she entered, "they clocked your private jet as soon as it entered our airspace."
"As I knew it would," I replied, stuffing my hand in my pockets, "are they inclined to help?"
"You know they're not," she said back.
"I suspected as much," I nodded back, "so they won't want you working with me either?"
"Look at it this way," she said looking tired, "my section head knows that you've propositioned me. He knows my history with Raye and Naomi. He also was, luckily for you, one of your supporters during the whole debacle. He wants the person responsible for their deaths to be caught just as much as I do. He's willing to loan me out unofficially for now, but I don't know how long he'll be able to justify my absence."
"Then there's little point in wasting any more of our time," I said, quickly indicating to Raito, "this is my associate Light Yagami."
"Pleased to meet you," Raito said civilly, even going as far as to smile; turning on the charm to make her feel at ease.
"Hi," Diana said with an answering smile, "I thought I recognised you, from the pictures I mean. I was so sorry to hear about your father."
"Thank you," Raito replied, a tinge of coldness seeping into his tone.

Thankfully the sound of the elevator interrupted us and I waited for Watari to escort our motley crew into the room. Rose was followed by a short brunette who was looking intently at everything, a taller man with a lethargic expression, a tall man with striking black hair and a suspicious air, a slighter chestnut haired man with dark eyes and a red head I immediately identified as Kay Braithwaite. I was glad Rose had brought him along on instinct so that I didn't have to request that he join the task force. I had heard many good things about him.

"Well, well, Diana Spacey," the man with black hair said as he stopped near the doorway, not yet acknowledging myself or Raito.
"Dee Laytner," she smirked back, "I'm surprised Berkley listed man-apes as a required field on the team."
"Gee, some people just never change," Laytner said back, looking over to me with a hard stare, "going to introduce us or will the mystery continue?"

I smiled at him, purely to see if it unnerved him. He was good at hiding his reactions, I realised, a useful trait.

"Well, now that we're all here," I said, "perhaps you should know why."
"First things first," the chestnut haired man interrupted, "I think introductions are in order."
"Of course," I said, "where are my manners."

I stopped, reversing the apology into an insult as I waited instead for them to introduce themselves.

"Dee Laytner, NYPD," the dark haired man said succinctly, not waiting to mess around.
"Randy McLean," the chestnut haired man said.
"Drake Walman," the lethargic man next.
"Kay Braithwaite," he said unnecessarily.
"Jemmy J. Adams," said the final man, "but everyone calls me JJ; and you are?"
"This is Light Yagami, my associate," I said pausing for a moment, "and I am L."

They all went through different stages of shock and disbelief. Unsurprisingly it was Laytner who spoke up first.

"Right, and I'm Abraham Lincoln," he snorted, "Rose is this some sort of elaborate set up?"
"Show some respect Laytner, or I'll have you shipped back to your desk faster than you can say 'fired'," Rose said with a glare, "and McLean won't be going with you."
"You're asking for a lot," Drake spoke next, "expecting us to just accept that we're being summoned to the hotel room of the most famous detective in the world, out of the blue. I mean, I thought L was notorious for never letting anyone see his face."
"So did I," Raito chose to speak up with a smirk.
"I would appreciate you not trying to undermine my authority Raito-kun," I said, looking at him over my shoulder, "and I understand your scepticism. I thought perhaps that your respect for your Commissioner and Miss Spacey would be proof enough at first instance. I see that it is not."
"Maybe if you explain why you've brought us here," McLean asked seriously, "the details were rather vague."

I looked to Raito for a moment, trying to judge his reaction, but he simply rolled his eyes like a petulant teenager and sighed.

"Please everyone, take a seat and I will explain."

AN: And yes, before you say it, I have been watching too much Criminal Minds. He he. I love Dr Reid. Anyways, just borrowing the idea, not the character as such. Please review if you have the time.